


Exile!Mike Collection

by Farstrider



Category: Motorcity
Genre: Blood, Multi, Violence, many feels
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-08-22
Updated: 2012-08-22
Packaged: 2017-11-12 15:58:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/493022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Farstrider/pseuds/Farstrider
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Bio-engineered plague released by Kane had only one cure and Kane would only part with it on one condition - Mike had to abandon Motorcity, the Burners, and his cause like he abandoned Kane. No warning, No words, no messages.</p><p>Among those infected with the plague was a burner… Chuck.</p><p>So Mike exiled himself... these are stories of his Exile</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Fireside with A Magpie

**Author's Note:**

> Collection of stories written originally on my tumblr. You can find all the works as well as notes, head canon, timelines ect ect in the Exile!Mike tag or at Cptprocrastination's tumblr.  
> Warnings will be at the top of every chapter.

Hail, traveler…come closer…closer…woah ok little too close… man when was the last time you bathed?…ok that’s good.

Sit at my fire and I shall tell you a tale of better times.

Who am I? I am but a humble Magpie… a wanderer of the Realms and City of Motors who collects all the shiniest tidbits of tales and histories, all the things to be known even if there are some who don’t wish it to be known.

Let me tell you a tale of the Lord Vanquisher shall I? It seems to pique your interest.

Once our mighty Lord Vanquisher was a softer soul. He was still brave and powerful, fearless and inspiring, but he was still softer. He was our king for many seasons even when the Realm of The City of Motors called him into action astride the mighty Smiling Dragon.

Who was the Smiling Dragon you ask? He is now ‘He who’s name shall not be spoken’. Why? Settle down, this is what I wish to tell you… for you see… six years ago all was…as well as it can be in our fair kingdom. The World Above did not come to bother us and for a time the Realm and the City of Motors never clashed…

Then the Plague came. Sicknesses came often but this… this was horrid. All who caught it fell in time and many people suffered. The Plague came from the World Above and try as many might there was no cure…there was no fix to be made with what we had nor with what magics the people possessed. Many tried to breach the defenses and alas even the strongest knights - the Lord Vanquisher included - could not.

The illness claimed so many…including our great Lord Vanquisher… for mid fight with the Dread Lord of the Forrest of Sorrows he fell to the illness. That was the moment when our two worlds truly collided… when Raymanthia and the City of Motors intertwined. If we lost our Lord Vanquisher we lost our king… and the City of Motors would lose a Burner.

And then the Overlord came… the Master of the Red Demon from above who’s voice boomed and visage filled every screen, scrying pool and monitor across the City of Motors…and he told the people ‘This doom I visit upon you is the fault of ONE man. For the Cure which I posses, bring me the Head of the Smiling Dragon and the illness will take no one else.’

What we did not know then, traveler, that we know now… is that the Smiling Dragon was already trying to secure the cure for the people…and when he heard this…his heart sank. And as the people gathered to hunt him down he called the Overlord and bade him bend his ear.

‘It is me you want’ he said ‘Do not make the people suffer’

‘If you wish them to live, to stop suffering, than either come to me and be a sacrifice for all the people to see…or…’ and here the Overlord did laugh and grin for he came up with a doom most foul. ‘Leave the City of Motors never to return. Abandon them as you abandoned me and your realms shall know peace.’

Our hero, the Lord of the Burners, Mike Chilton our Smiling Dragon… did exactly that. Lady Ruby found his steed Mutt with the keys in the seat. All he left in his stead was his car and his communication’s gear and a brief message for only His Lord Vanquisher.

We did not know of this for years for Lady Ruby kept it secret and kept it safe…

With the Dragon gone with no reason as to why the Overlord kept his word. The Cure rained down from above and the sick became the cured. Relief came from the Above to the City of Motors and the people began to migrate back. Our Lord Vanquisher was cured and awoke to a world without his Smiling Dragon.

The peace did not last…it never does…and the Overlord Betrayed his word. The Bots returned and the Red Demon… the Burners became our Lords and we their knights to defend our city. Together, with all the realms and gangs and districts united, together we present a front to fight the Overlord as best we can.

But our Lord Vanquisher is not the man he once was. He is colder now, harsher, no more screams or knocking knees. He is a hard man but still a just man. He is; however, not the man you remember.

I know who you are traveler from the Wastes Beyond…I would know your face anywhere.

You are Mike Chilton…the Dragon who does not Laugh now… no I see it long gone from your face and your heart. This message has never reached Chuck. Ruby does not know I stole it. Kane does not know I hacked his records with the help of the Lady of Illusions so that someone, maybe, would know the truth…

So I have wandered the edges of Detroit waiting for you to return because the Burners no longer do. They have lost Faith. They feel betrayed and abandoned and have grown hard and grown weary…and so have you. Take time here to rest, we will clean you up and then I shall take you to the Burners because they will believe this little old Magpie.

One day we will have peace. One day they will trust you again. Perhaps even Chuck will get his heart back… and we will see you smile.

I still have faith in you Mike Chilton. I still believe in you.


	2. Year One - You must be Strong

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beware OCs lurk in the Wastelands  
> \-----  
> Mike's first year in the Wastelands  
> the 'short' version  
> \-----

He only grabbed what he could out of Mutt before he left her behind - drove as far as the battery could handle right up to the last bridge to nowhere before he lost the resolve to take her with him. He knew he was out of range so he hid the message in the seat cover.

“Chuck, buddy…I don’t know if you’ll find this or even ever forgive me but…I can’t lose you like this. I can’t lose the city to this plague if it can all stop by me leaving. God it isn’t how I want this to go but we gotta do what we gotta do. Heh lame I know but…I love you buddy. I always will. I only hope you live and things get better for you. See ya around.”

He replayed the words in his head over and over again… what should he have said? What else could he have said? Did he pick the wrong words? It plagued him during the biting loneliness and the gnawing moments of hunger when he really wished for one of those damned mayo muffins. It shook him to the core when he stopped to try and call the others on gear he left behind or turn to tell Chuck a joke to pass the time.

He filled the wandering silence with whistles or jokes or humming songs… after the first month it became talking to the Burners who weren’t there. He could still see them in his mind’s eye, hear their voices, feel the weight of their stares or the sting of Texas’ punches.

Late at night he could taste Chuck’s kisses on his lips, feel those long fingers along his skin, smell his sweat and spirit gum that clung to him after LARP night. He tried not to think about the sick body he left behind in Motorcity for it’s own good. After nearly being jumped by mutated monsters he tried not to think about the other parts too because nothing kills a boner like rabid wolfrats after your half naked ass mid wank.

Month four he comes across his first tribe and quickly leaves them be as they run him off from a watering hole. The people here are far harsher and far less trusting than in the city. By month’s end he finds another settlement, religious in nature, and begs for forgiveness as he steals from their stores and runs back into the wasteland.

Month Six he finds a smuggling ring who transport live cargo… slave cargo…can you imagine Slavery in Motorcity Mike Chilton, a voice in his head sneered at him, It’s out here best get used to it. He refuses to get used to it. His coat is torn from a slaver’s lash and a burn on his hand from a cigar pushed into the flesh before he got away along with anyone able to run. He leads them to another settlement who welcome them home. He is offered a place to stay but he decides to move on.

By the eighth month he’s lost power in his staff and can’t collapse it. He can’t find a replacement for it out here and the few people he’s met haven’t exactly been friendly. His hair is longer and he is developing scruff and he’s growing but can’t replace his clothing because there’s nothing but corpses to pick off of and that’s… no he won’t do it. He has a bit of a limp from a shot to the knee a few weeks ago and the last of his med supplies are gone and it won’t stop hurting…it isn’t long before his water is gone too and he doesn’t really need to eat he isn’t hungry anyway.

When the fever takes it’s hold as he hides in the shell of a gas station he dreams of Chuck and the Burners… all of them plagued and screaming… all of them well and laughing over Pizza… he dreams of things that are and never were and once, only once, he dreamed of his parents.

“Hush now child.” His mother says to him in a voice not her own. “Drink this and be calm I will not hurt you.”

His mama tucks him in under a heavy coat that smells of oil and the dust of the road. Something heavy and warm settles beside him and breaths hot breath on his skin and he asks Texas to give him some space he’ll cuddle later.

It’s late into Month Nine before he regains himself completely. She is maybe two or three years older than he is and goes by ‘Hunter’. No gun, no blaster, no gunchucks… just a hand made bow and arrows that she is deadly accurate with and knives as big as his forearms. She calls the mutt that keeps him warm at night ‘Bash’ - some bastard mix of Rottweiler and a mutant Husky or wolf. It has four red eyes and an extra large maw and is almost big enough to ride. He never does though.

The Gas Station becomes home as winter sets in and he has to depend on her for food and water and warmth. She asks about the City and he asks about the Wasteland. He talks about the Burners and she speaks of the dangers of the Wastes. He tells her of the Slavers and she congratulates him on stopping them. He speaks of Kane and what he did one cold and dreary night. She calls him a fool and leaves for patrol.

“The weak do not survive here in the Wastes, Mike Chilton…in the Wastes you must be Strong.”

“Why did you save me?”

“Because you are lost…because once a Hunter saved me…my debt is paid. Now you must live to repay this debt and those you have taken before. No man dies before his debts are paid.”

Hunter is not warm, not in the friendly sense, ever wary of him or those who pass too close. He watches her calmly knock an arrow and put it in a man’s ear as Bash rips another’s arm off when they get too close. Marauders she calls them. Dangerous men who are not men, changed by the Wastes and the nothingness and the despair. Another pack comes to investigate but never get close to the station… too busy picking over the corpses they left far away… too busy gnawing flesh from the bone.

He vows never to become one of them.

“Many never want to but some grow too desperate. It is easier to go mad out here, child, than it is to stay sane. Here you meet the darkest parts of yourself.”

When he asked the dark part of her that she met she did not speak more than this:

“I faced the beast and became it for a time…then I tamed it. I wonder how you will fair.”

The day comes when he can walk again and she tosses him new cloths. The blood on them is still warm. He’s applauded at himself at how fast he puts them on. They take what they can from the gas station and set off for the West.

“It is safer for one like you in the West.” she explains. “The Southern Wastes are home to most Marauders. The Northern Tribes are vicious and distrustful of anyone from the city, above it or below. They will kill you most likely. To the East you will find more slavers and mongers and those who would abuse someone like you child. The West… the West is where hope still remains among it’s people.”

She takes him as far as the Western Border. They raid a slaver camp for supplies and free those who can walk or aren’t broken completely. She says she will tend to the broken if he leads the able West. She makes sure he takes a hooded sweatshirt because in the West you get exposed to the sun.

“The sun out here is not your friend. It saps strength. It burns. It blinds. Remember move by night and stay vigilant during the day. Remember when the Beast within comes to call to face it head on. Do not forget what you dream of.”

He knew, in his heart, when he walked away from the camp that she had lost the dream she had, if she ever had one. As he lead a group of people into the Western Wastes he knew she did not stay to help those who were broken or too hurt to move on. Not in the way she helped him.

He tried to think of the Burner’s voices as they walked and remember what Chuck looked like so he was not tempted to focus on the sounds of screams and pleas to stop, the thunks of arrows, or the gnashing of wolf like jaws.

“To survive here… you must be Strong.”


	3. Jaws that Bite, The Claws that Catch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First Year
> 
> Mike’s first encounter with the Marauders while out on a hunting trip ends with nightmares for life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from the Jabberwocky
> 
> Warning: violence, gore, cannibalism, fear, blood, throwing up
> 
> Do not read if you are squeamish…the Wastes are kind to no one.

He made the mistake, once, of asking what a Marauder was…

“You will find out sooner than you like.”

Mike Chilton did not scare easily. He was used to the sound of Chuck screaming at him to slow down, to stop, to be safe when he pulled his craziest stunts. He hadn’t adhered to his warnings but he did listen.

He knew Chuck’s fear well now. A cold chill filled his stomach and turned it into knots and his lungs felt like a scream was clawing them bloody. He shook hard from the fear not the cold of the winter air around them as they hid in the shell of an old tanker truck on the way back to the Gas Station. He was learning to walk again and the trip hadn’t been bad but something was in their way now.

Marauders.

Two days ago he watched Hunter calmly draw her bow and put arrows in the skulls and throats of the three who had gotten close to him and the station. He’d watched Bash charge from one of the open garage bays and set upon them with fangs and claws and gurgling sprays of blood.

Hidden in the body of the gas tanker where they had crawled in to check for critters to trap and eat the Marauders had shown up where Hunter had left the bodies of their fellows. Signs of a big predator would keep the small pack away, she said, but it would be best to keep the dead away from the station.

They didn’t look like men as they skulked about half hunched… like husks of men with mottled skin and strange piles of leather on their backs and around their bodies to protect from the cold. Hunter told him they are not men. Not any more.

The first cry tried to work free when one of the men crouched down beside a body and reached into the chest, rooting around elbow deep in the near frozen innards for something. When he pulled back an organ he twisted and wrenched then leaned in to gnaw at the connective tissues to wrench it free. Like someone chewing on the plastic tie on a pair of sun glasses rather than use scissors.

Hunter’s hand clamped over his mouth and nose, pulled him away from the hole in the tanker and against her body.

“Be silent. Be Still.” she hissed in his ear. “Breath slow.”

He could feel her breathing through his back - calm, even, consistent - felt the air rush into the fabric of his coat. Her gloves moved to cover his nose too and he panicked, bucking back into her.

She only held harder.

Outside the Marauders began to…dig in. Mike shut his eyes against the sight of it, turned his head to try and not see people eating people.

A pop of a joint and crack of ribs being spread

A squelch of innards being dug through and the ripping of clothing

The snap of bone and the sick slurping noise of marrow being sucked at…

Bile filled his mouth and he tried to swallow it back even as he tried to wretch, shaking in Hunter’s firm strong grasp.

A scuffle broke out and two out of the three began to fight over one of the remaining bodies. He dared look.. the biggest one was fighting with the middle sized male over the body, brought to blows and pulling and biting. They were… covered in blood, the snow stained with it and the dirt they dug up in their fight.

The smallest of the three - a girl maybe - crouched low snuck in closer to the body being fought over and grabbed at the organ in contest then scurried towards the tanker to eat it.

The Big one saw this and threw his opponent to the ground than stalked after the girl, garbing her by the hair and throwing her into the tanker with a loud echo that deafened Mike for a moment.

He cried out in the middle of it, Hunter’s hand tightened harder… he bit into her palm to try and hold it back…she didn’t stop him, only held on harder.

The only thing hiding them now was the shadows around them within the tanker.

The middle sized one picked up a broken bone as a weapon and with a bloody cry charged the Big One. Mike could feel the impact of bone being sunk into the Big One’s back. The tanker rang again with a bodily impact and suddenly the hole filled with the Big One trying to crawl inside to get away.

His opponent - his murderer - came behind him and stabbed again and again and again…

Blood sprayed hot everywhere, over Mike’s brace, over Hunter’s arm around his middle… over his face and her glove. He could smell it, felt it as it dripped down his skin and down to his lips and he convulsed against her as if he could get away from having to taste it.

The Marauders pulled the still dieing body of their former leader out of the tanker and paid the pair no mind as they tore into him. Only when the Big One screamed did Hunter spin Mike around and press his face into her neck and hold him there hard.

“Breath.” she whispered in his ear. “They will eat their fill soon… Bash will smell it on the wind…breath it will be over soon.”

—————————-

Dinner landed with a rush and a thunk into the bowl as Mike clutched the ugly rose colored porcelain he hunched over. Sweat ran down his face, hot and salty, to mingle with the snot and it only made him retch harder. His stomach and his back and his bad knee hurt like a son of a bitch but he knew he could only ride it out.

_Breath_

He flinched hard at the hand to his back - long fingers tentatively rubbing his sweat soaked shirt before reaching up to hold some of his hair back. He would have been surprised given the cold shoulder Chuck had been showing him lately if he wasn’t busy still tasting blood on his lips and his guts turning inside out.

“Easy Mikey…just breath.” Chuck tried to sooth, “Close your eyes.” Chuck reached over his head and flushed though Mike knew it wasn’t over. He kept his eyes open despite being blinded by tears.

It was worse when he closed them.

More lights came on and the small room filled with voices that he tried to tune out, tried not to think about because the nightmare and reality liked to blur within the first 30 or so minutes when he woke up like this… fun times for sure.

“Hey what’s all the… whoa… he sick or something?”

“I don’t know…he was asleep one moment then he was running in here.”

“Did you feed him those muffins? I told you don’t leave them on the counter…”

“No, no. Texas had the last of them after dinner.”

“Yeah and they were great. Little zingy. Texas likes.”

“No kisses for you than…”

“Aww but Julie-B…oh oh kay that’s just… yeah Texas is gunna be back in our bunk.”

“Tch…Chuck, you want me to go wake up Dutch?”

“No no I got it… I think he’s almost spent anyway… oh gross.”

“Leave it to Mike to just keep on rolling… you sure?”

“I got it Jules go back to bed.”

He didn’t know how long he knelt there but his face and his jaw and…well most of him ached when he was sure it ended. Mike Chilton gracelessly slumped over onto the cold tile floor and curled around the ugly pink toilet with the cracked lid and just tried to breath.

Chuck flushed again then dragged a cool washcloth over Mike’s forehead. His body moved like he sighed in relief but he made no noise.

_Be still… be quiet._

“I’m going to get you a change of cloths ok? You wanna take a shower?” After a moment or two of silence Chuck took that as a no or at least an ask later. Mike didn’t want to think about getting up just yet. He was grateful though for Chuck’s kindness because up until now they hadn’t exactly been friendly. “Jesus fuck man way to scare me…” the blond tried to joke and Mike’s gut clenched again, making him curl up more. Damned guilt. “Easy Mikey…Just keep breathing… nice and slow…”

_It will be over soon._


	4. Green Toothbrush

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Immediately follows Jaws & claws
> 
> Mike thinks about the distance between him and Chuck since he got back.
> 
> Chuck won't let Mike sleep alone after his night terror and gastrointestinal pyrotechnics.
> 
> Cuddly Muck (Mike/Chuck)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for cursing and cuddles between men and many feels...as usual
> 
> For full feels effect listen to the following tracks:
> 
> Stay With Me - The Fountain Soundtrack  
> I Was Lost Without You - Mass Effect Soundtrack
> 
> You can find them on Youtube.

He’d been back in Motorcity all of a month and in the beginning Chuck didn’t even want to be in the same damn city as Mike Chilton. Damned near ran him back out of town with Ruby’s help and it wasn’t hard to sway Texas either.

Julie… Thank God for Julie… had none of this macho bullshit. She kicked Texas to the couch, Chuck to the curb and went back to join the Exiled Legion’s camp to talk with Mike so someone knew the whole damn story.

Mike secretly had been worried as hell Hunter wouldn’t approve but she had. The two women stared down - Julie as a woman by the way was almost as mind bending as her being Kane’s daughter - and in 30 seconds were discussing relocation plans, setting up a permanent settlement on the outskirts and left Mike alone for hours. He played fetch with Bash until Julie remembered just why she’d come out there in the first place.

They talked… it… it was hard but even with learning about well her Dad he knew he could trust Julie. Since then she’d been the first to notice when he was stressed or be the first to snap at someone if they were giving Mike a hard time. She was the first to tell the others ‘Mike is not doing ok when he gets quiet.’

Mike was quiet a lot.

Week two and he was permitted back in the city. They wanted to keep it quiet so they basically smuggled him back into the HQ. The Knights and some of the Terras were not happy about it - Terra for their own reasons and well the Knights were loyal to their King - but they let him stay rather than commute back and forth. He slept on the couches in the lounge for a few days before Julie got Texas to clean out one of the rooms. Chuck agreed he couldn’t sleep in a public space so at least now he had his own retreat.

Week three Dutch found him sitting on Mutt’s fender looking at her with a mix of lost love and ‘what the fuck’. He told Mike Chuck still had Mutt’s key around his neck. Mike decided to return the favor a little and snuck into Blond Thunder to put the little mutt bobble head in his seat.

He had the keys the next day…and the bobble head was on Mutt’s dash. He still hadn’t taken her out for a ride yet, just sat in the driver’s seat and apologized to her for abandoning her and everyone else. That night he slept in Mutt and woke up with Chuck’s jacket draped over him. They shared a smoke out back when he returned it and talked strategy for a bit. About how to best use his return to rile up Kane. Kept it from being personal because neither of them seemed able to handle it.

Chuck swore a lot more, especially when he was upset. Which was often.

Last night Chuck invited him to actually sit and eat with everyone. He’d been eating in Mutt and before that in his room. Chuck was still cold and a bit snippy but it as was an improvement. Texas fell right back into being well Texas and told Mike ALL ABOUT Him and Julie and Dutch’s new projects and hey you gunna eat that…

Almost like old times… almost.

Tonight though was a disaster. He’d gone in to talk about maybe taking Mutt out for a drive, maybe air a little of this whole mess with Chuck…they talked instead about what everyone had been up to… the new Burners, the districts…Mike found a cord when he asked about the Knights.

Chuck was so damn proud of his Knights.

He hadn’t meant to fall asleep while Chuck talked but it just sort of happened. Their old bed was still comfortable and being near Chuck even with it being weird was so comforting…

Than his fool head had to fuck it up. Nice going brain.

It didn’t matter that he tried to reassure Chuck he’d be ok or that the bed wasn’t as big as it used to be and he had his own… nope he wouldn’t have any of it. Things only got worse when when Mike mentioned it happens all the time no biggy.

Apparently it was a ‘biggy’ in Chuck’s head.

Chuck’s disapproving glare was a lot better now that he was older and it cowed Mike a little bit. Not that he felt up to arguing about it. He felt exhausted actually. He didn’t fight Chuck when the other man pulled his stained shirt over his head or handed him a spare set of soft pants, a tank top and told him to go brush his teeth before bed because he was old enough to do that much on his own.

“I’ll be right out here when you’re done.” Chuck said as he shut the door. His tone didn’t give him any room to argue even if he felt up for it.

It was the toothbrush that did it.

The last time he was in this bathroom there were two tooth brushes - one blue one green - with their initials written in sharpie on them. Their towels shared the same nebulous corner of the floor when they were done with the shower… Mike’s comb sat behind the faucet while Chuck’s brush had a spot on top of the tank next to where they kept the body washes and the two in one shampoo Jacob made.

Now there was one towel hung on the bar and the bottles lived in the shower on the tub’s rim and the brush was tucked behind the faucet with half a dozen hair ties wound around the end.

But it was that stupid green tooth brush in the faded Detroit Tiger’s cup sitting innocent as you please on the sink with a sharpie **C** on it that did him in.

Mike never heard Chuck come in, just felt long and much stronger arms wrap around him and pull him close. Mike’s nose bumped into Chuck’s neck as he burrowed into the embrace and tired to calm his breathing. It didn’t work well. He bit his lip to keep quiet as he could and muttered apologies when his eyes got Chuck’s shirt wet. Chuck just stood there and held on until Mike got still and quiet again.

“Mike… come on buddy talk to me…” Chuck tried, rubbing his hair and holding an arm strongly around his back. Mike didn’t know what to say though his head filled to the brim instantly with suggestions.

_I wish I had tried to come up with another way than leaving._

_I didn’t want to leave you, the Burners, Motorcity, my home._

_I’m so sorry for all the bad that happened while I was gone._

_I don’t want to tell you about the monsters in my head._

_I don’t want you to know about the monster I was._

_I just want it to go back to the way it was._

_I don’t want to leave this spot._

“I was so lost without you.” was all that came out in a little choked voice that made him feel 16 again. Chuck sighed heavily and hugged harder.

They stayed like that for a few minutes before Chuck coaxed him into at least rinsing his mouth out with a bit of tooth paste then tugged the shirt over his head and pulled him back to bed. The jeans and the boots and swap to soft pants that were kinda tight around the hips but too long in the legs moment was amusing and awkward and Mike fell over twice.

“For fuck’s sakes just take em off and get over here Mike.” Chuck sighed,”Not like I haven’t seen it before.” He rolled his eyes as he tugged his hair free of the tie and killed the lights. After a moment’s settling and shifting and is it ok to bump this close or where does my arm go now and such they got settled into an oldie but a goodie… just in reverse.

Chuck was far too tall now to be the little spoon and with how… raw… Mike was feeling it was nice to get wrapped up in blankets and arms and big hands and feel Chuck’s chin on top of his head. Their knees bumped and Mike’s leg flinched and Chuck asked about his knee.

Mike got quiet.

Chuck sighed and just rested one of his hands on top of Mike’s and pulled him closer. Their fingers just fell into place, interlocking like a set of gears in the gear box. Mike could feel Chuck’s breathing through his back and if he focused enough he could feel his heart beat. Chuck’s fingers tightened on his.

“Tomorrow… we get you a damn new toothbrush.”

“You’re swearing an awful lot there Chuckles…”

“Don’t start just go to sleep.” Chuck huffed. Mike was just about out when he felt lips press to his hair and pretended not to hear Chuck before he drifted back into the black. “I was lost without you too.”

 


	5. Can't Give Back What You Took

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mike faces the prospects of taking a life and dealing with it.
> 
> 3 times he does  
> 1 time he doesn't  
> 1 time he refuses to

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Death, blood, violence, suicide attempt, time skips
> 
> Timelines told at each break.
> 
> Many feels  
> Tracks to look up on Youtube:  
> Woodkid- Iron  
> Astronautalis - This Is Our Science   
> Florence and The Machine-Seven Devils

\-------------------------

Year one - Location: The Wastelands - South West of Motorcity

\-------------------------

There’s a red stain on his coat and his sleeves and he just can’t get it out. No matter how hard he picks at it the spot just won’t go away. Most of his clothing is dirty anyway but this stain he wants gone the most.

He tries not to think about how it got there. Tries very hard not to remember the stink of the man’s breath as he coughed at him, the wet sick choke sound of it and then the red all over his cuff and sleeve. He doesn’t think of seeing the light everyone talks about going out of those blood shot brown eyes that for one moment held fear… like he knew the fate he’d carved for himself in the life he lead.

He can hear Chuck yelling at him in his head and flinching from him. Texas looking aghast because tough as he is he’d never do what Mike just did. Dutch would fix him with that look… his ‘dude…’ look that grates at your guilt hard. Julie’s ‘Mike… how could you?’ rings loud in his head.

It is that flinch though that makes him tuck his staff under his arm and pick harder at the red stains.

“It gets easier.” Hunter tells him.

“I never should have… I…”

“Never killed a man…” she finishes for him in a bored cold tone. “Bots and machines are different than living men, different than animals.”

“I’ve beaten men badly before… Kane’s Elite… some of the gangsters but…never taken a life.” A cold hot lump forms in his throat but he swallows it back. He’s cried more in front of this woman than he has in front of his Burners and she isn’t the hug it out type.

“You can’t give it back either.” Her hand claps on his shoulder and gives a squeeze. “He would have killed you if you hadn’t beat him to it. It was a clean kill. You should be proud.”

He wasn’t proud. Her praise makes him feel hollow as they set up camp with the few freed slaves they rescued. He doesn’t eat that night…just picks at his jacket.

—————————————

Year Two - Location: Western Wastes -Fort Nowhere

\--------------------------

Mike never liked having a gun on his hip but you had to in Fort Nowhere. Everyone had one. He’s a good shot though and he practices but he hasn’t let his martial arts slip either. A few times a brawl breaks out in the Saloon and he busts it up… or busts noses because he’s been in a few himself. Drifters come and Drifters go and sometimes they stay. Like him. The people trust him more now though than they had when he showed up.

He tells stories of Motorcity and of the Burners and some nights he has to beat people away with a stick so he can stop talking about it. The details are a bit fuzzier but he remembers how evil Kane was and how Brave his Burners were. Stories of him and his marksmanship also grow and pass and soon enough he’s taking up bets to shoot off bottle caps or old cans off fence posts.

The Drifters in today though are different. Mean men from the South who call at the lady folk and intimidate the shop keeps. Sheriff Clint has been following them all day, a shadow of authority, waiting for them to pull something worthy of him pulling rank to kick them out.

He was the Law. He was Order… and Mike was one of his Deputies.

When they start to harass Miss Jenkins as she tries to cross the street to get back to her home they go too far. They mobbed her and tore her dress and she called for help.

Mike was there with a stern clean shaven face and his tin star shined up to reflect the sun. They laughed at him, asked his name, teased his station.

“Look he even got a pop gun!” One of them said and reached for his weapon.

Mike’s hands flashed out to grab his wrist, bend it down and back then spin his arm to lock it. It was so fast the man was on his knees yowling in pain and begging to be let go before the dust had a chance to rise from the impact.

“You got fast hands, boi.” The leader said with a snarl. He breathed deep and hawked a loogie at Mike’s boots. “I wonder how fast.” His deep set eyes went to Mike’s gun belt as his hand settled on his holster.

“Leave peacefully or you’ll find out.”

They didn’t. Instead they hauled Mike and Miss Jenkins into the street. They fanned out to keep trouble from stopping them. Two men stood in the middle of the dusty road a hundred paces apart.

The man is fast but Mike is faster. The bullet aimed for his chest misses and scrapes the underside of his arm instead. Mike’s shot isn’t well aimed either but it is fatal.

That night he’s hailed as a hero and Miss Jenkins ‘Call me Delilah’ kisses him in the middle of the Saloon to a loud chorus of calls.

When Mike goes to bed all he can think of is watching the man choke and drown on his own blood from the hole in his throat. The way his gang tired to help but only made it worse. They left town before a shoot out started because everyone was in the street and everyone was armed.

It took the man hours to die on the surgeon’s table. They burred him in the chapel graveyard because it was their way. The Preacher prayed for his wayward soul. Mike wished he prayed for him too.

He gets up earlier than usual and is in the street scrubbing his boot over the dark sand hoping to make it disappear enough so no one else has to see come sun up.

—————————

Year 3 - Location: Southern Wastelands - Red Maw Clan Territory

\------------------

If he had a notch in his belt from every Marauder and monster and murderer he’s put out of the world’s misery he’d need a new belt near as he could tell. He’d lived the hell they left behind when they descended on a town.

One hundred and seventy three graves he dug himself. One hundred and seventy three prayers he said so they would find peace. One hundred and seventy three names he would never forget.

He figures every monster he puts down the more names he won’t have to remember. It’s almost easy now, like destroying bots in the old days. His gun is low on his hip easy to draw. His rifle light on his shoulder. He scavenges ammo as he goes and the big knife in his boot doesn’t throw his walk off anymore even when his knee acts up.

He doesn’t carry his staff anymore… left it in the Ruins of Fort Nowhere. Left his Burner’s coat there. Left his Tin star.

Mike Chilton died with the One Hundred and Seventy Three people he vowed to avenge.

The heat of blood doesn’t bother him now. His aim is steady as ever and hands fast as a flash. His senses are keen and sharp and no one survives when he walks into a camp.

Many on the outskirts of the Southern Wastes hail him as a hero for going out, for striking back. He just pretends not to see how they hide the kids behind their legs or how some don’t meet his gaze. How it’s only the hard women who ever approach him.

He’s learned to trade what he had to get what he needed. Got a Marauder problem? He could fix it for a few nights in a bed and medical treatment. Trade scavenged things for a meal or two, maybe a mount if he had something of worth. A few minutes of his time, a little bit of sweat and grunting maybe a bite or two in exchange for ammunition or a horse or bath and a shave. Not always women either but he doesn’t bend over the hood easy as he did in the old days. He’s careful as he can be or no deal.

Motorcity seems so far away on trips like this.

It isn’t why he’s stopped dead in his tracks with a Red Maw camp burning around his ears. The thought of The Burners seeing what he does now to keep people safe doesn’t freeze his blood.

“So it is true.” She said and he didn’t want to hear her talk. Wanted to think she’s just an apparition in the fire and the bodies with her bow drawn pointed at him. “You’re one of them now.”

“What?” He scoffed. “I’m a hero! I protect people from monsters like them.” He waved his hand around at the destruction around him. “You didn’t see what they did to Fort Nowhere! You don’t see what they do to good people just trying to survive!”

“Do you see what you’re doing?” She asked not letting her bow drop. “Take a good look Mike Chilton. You are no hero. You are one of them.”

“I am not a Marauder!” His voice broke with how hard he shouted, hands clenched to white knuckles, eyes cold and hard under his bangs. He is not one of those monsters. He never will be.

“Than how do you explain all of this?!” Hunter demanded, nodding her head to the village around them. He could hear distant screams of those he hadn’t killed. He didn’t kill children or women so long as they didn’t attack him. He could see shapes in the flames as they tried to run or burned. “Look around… don’t you see what you are doing or are you too afraid to admit what you have become? What would your Burners think to see this?”

He doesn’t want to think about it. They aren’t his Burners. They’re some dream long since faded away and far out of reach. He can’t go back so why would what they think matter?

He doesn’t want to see. He’s long since shut his eyes to it but damn her if he doesn’t look now. The hot lump in his throat is not from the smoke and he lets his gun fall from where it’s pointed at Hunter, turning away from her. “Why are you even here?”

“The clans got together money to pay me.” She explained, letting her bow drop but arrow still knocked. “A hunter’s services can be bought. They paid me to find the demon hunting them.”

The blood in Mike Chilton’s veins began to frost over.

“They paid me to hunt you.”

“S… so what are you going to do about it?” A hunter’s contract was a simple one. Give them a job, they do it, they get paid. If the new gear she had on was any indicator she got a deposit. A big one.

“I came here to hunt a Demon… to kill a beast as vicious as the Marauders.” Her gaze was heavy and it bore right into his soul. “I did not come here to kill a boy.

“Once you praised my killing.”

“You kill to not be killed. You don’t do it wastefully. Not in anger. Not in revenge. The boy I knew would know that.”

“That boy is dead.” he spat. “I grew up.”

“So what you’re a Man now? Maybe I should just put you down.” the bow came back up, string taught and he knew her aim would be true. “I came here to kill a beast…so what are you Mike Chilton? Man… or Beast?”

A scream pierced the burning night and he turned to watch some of the Defenders he lead to the camp grab a woman out of a burning tent by the hair. Three big men and one girl maybe as old as Julie would be now. They tore at her clothing, laughing the whole time. Mike had always left the clean up to the Defenders… always headed back to town… was this what they did when he left…

…is this what he had begun?

The arrow buzzed past his ear and embedded itself in one of the men’s shoulders. He screamed and turned only to have the gun shot out of his hand.

“Which one are you, Mike?”

He never answered her as she walked past to defend a Marauder. Her. Hunter. The one he watched kill Marauders so coolly when they met. The one who praised him for his first kill.

_Keep it short, keep it clean._

_I only kill when I must._

_Never out of Anger._

_I became a Beast once… we all must face it out here…_

He ran… ran from the fire and the smoke and the screams. Ran from the men he lead. Ran from the Hunter after him. His gun fell from nerveless fingers… his rifle was too heavy to carry so he threw it away too…

He ran to try and outrun the truth…

_I wonder how you’ll fair…_

——————————

Somewhere around the end of year three, early year four - Deep Wastes

\--------------------

You can’t outrun yourself. This is something he’s discovered.

He couldn’t outrun the Hunter’s words or the burning contempt in her gaze.

He couldn’t outrun the smell of fire and the screams that woke him up at night.

He couldn’t find warmth in his limbs even when he thought they were washed in red red blood.

Stumbling out in the tall grass of a broken plane he tripped over a gun. His fingers shook as he picked it up and checked it over.

One bullet.

A peace washed over him for a moment and he knelt in the dust towards where he thought east was. He didn’t feel the thirst or the guilt or the pain in his bad knee and the emptiness of his belly.

No more nightmares. No more walking terrors. No more having to deal with the truth. No more loneliness and pain.

Just the weight of the gun in his hand and the wind through the golden grass.

All he had to do was pull the trigger.

Around him the grass danced in the growing wind.  A deep growl rumbeled in the distance.

It sounded like Mutt.

He could hear the engine rev and grumble under his hands. He could smell the leather of her seats. He could feel a weight on his hand that held the gun - his shifting hand - a warmth that crawled across his skin.

Thunder boomed and lightning flashed before the rain came down and the last bit of sunlight vanished. Mike threw the gun as hard as he could and hugged himself. Hugged the hand that was still warm from a remembered touch he so desperately needed right then.

One of Texas’ Buddy punches.

The smell Jacob’s seaweed souffle

Watch Julie laugh

Talking shop with Dutch.

He wanted to remember their faces and their voices and their warmth… He wanted His Burners.

Most of all he wanted Chuck’s warm touch and to hear his nervous chuckle and to push his hair aside to see his eyes…

We’re in this together buddy

———————

End of Exile- Wastelands on the Outskirts of Motorcity

The Marauder band chose the wrong camp to try and go after. They did not know how large it was. They did not know who lead it.

Mike Chilton stood before their fallen leader. He has no gun. He has no weapon greater than a walking stick.

The Marauders found a name for him. They learned a name he once had and made it their own. The Red Dragon.

“Kill me.” The Marauder spits. “Like you did the rest of the Red Maw!”

Mike looks down at him long and hard with his stick poised at the man’s throat. The Legion waits to see if he will.

Mike Chilton takes a deep breath and pulls his stick back to lean on it because his knee hurts like hell after being hit. “Take your people and go.”

“Coward!” The Mara snarls. “Beat a man to the ground and let him go… we will come back!”

“You might.” Mike agrees with a nod. He offers a hand to the man he beat into the dust to help him up. “I won’t kill you then either.”

The Mara looked confused and took his hand to get up. He looks long and hard in the young man’s face, into his steady even gaze that has much turmoil but at this moment is calm. Determined. Truthful. “You are not the monster the others made you out to be.”

“I am not the monster I was. I’ll live every day I have left to make sure of that.”

He lets the band go, tells his scouts not to follow and not to cause them harm. When he passes Hunter she just smiles and hands him his blue and orange coat. One of the pockets is heavy with the charged and rebuilt staff inside beside the little bobble head mutt.

Motorcity is just a bridge away and calling to him.

Just a bridge away the Burners are waiting.

“Time to go home.”


End file.
